Shipwreck
by Fiannalyn also Fianna
Summary: Alone and suffering from memory loss, Haldir must find the strength to continue. A short story.


Shipwreck

By Fianna Leighton

The harbor was a silver sheen, a mirror of the moonlight that flowed over the smooth expanse of sky above him. The shore sloped away from him, littered with numerous piles of debris, bits of wood and rope, sails torn and shapeless, the remains of the hull buried deep in the sand as if time had slipped past him, leaving him unaware for more than the few hours it had taken for the tides to wash them ashore.

Pain ratcheted up his leg and hip as he shifted, draining him of will, leaving him breathing shallowly to ease the agony. Water lapped at his knees, while above him the stars winked, their brilliance marred by the haze that seemed to cover his eyes. He lifted a hand, it felt far too heavy, to brush away the cobwebs marring his vision. Blood covered his fingers as he pulled them away.

He remembered nothing of the wreck.

Remembering little else, he lay back, exhausted in the sand. Where had he been bound? Had there been others with him? Had they survived or had the sea taken them to a final resting place? Would the Vala protect them, or were they truly lost?

The water was cool against his legs, his feet shifting in the movement of the waves on the shore. How long had he lain here? Too long - he should move, force himself to sit up, to get moving, find help. Instead, he remained still, gazing at the sky above him.

The moon hung low over the water, mirrored on the flat surface below it. It lay large and brilliant against the purple sky behind it, his hand could hardly encompass it. He should have felt comfort from the sight, but did not, his mind a bleary confusion, thoughts too muddled to make out, memories hidden behind a veil he could not push aside.

It was easier to lie still and let the tides take him as they would.

"The Gods have left you for dead," a voice whispered from beside him. "I should not be surprised, for those who leave these lands as you do are selfish and uncaring."

He blinked, the words spoken in anger settled uncomfortably in his mind. He turned his head, wincing at the pain to look at the speaker. It was a woman. Human and small in stature, she crouched on one knee dressed as a man might, in breeches, a tunic torn and stained, leaning heavily on a withered carved staff. He blinked again, surprised by the severity in her gaze, the anger.

"You should be happy then," he rasped, his throat sore from the salt, lips cracked.

She leaned closer, enough that he could see a sharp line that crossed from her jaw to her ear. A blade had narrowly missed taking her head. She frowned but reached out to press her fingers to his neck.

"Aye, I should be," she muttered.

He closed his eyes, too weary to study her further. He felt her fingers flutter over his skin, moving briskly to ascertain his injuries. His skin pebbled beneath her touch, goose bumps sent a chill down his spine the water had not.

She stabbed the staff into the sand near his head, close enough he flinched. Then to his surprise, she caught him under the arms and dragged him free of the water, grunting at the effort. She pulled off his boot, which took several tries, the leather wet, his foot swollen from his injury. He gritted his teeth at the pain, fists sunk deep into the sand.

Whether she noted it or not she did not say. She tossed the boot aside and then removed the other, easier than the first, if still not easy. He would have smiled at her efforts had he not been in such pain. His eyes flew open when her fingers moved up his thigh. He caught her wrist when she drew a knife from her waist.

"Are you going to finish me off now?"

She stared into his eyes fearlessly, ignoring the grip he had on her arm. Her eyes were brown, nondescript, dull almost, yet something glinted there, something he was not sure he liked.

"Would you prefer to end it squirming in agony as the gangrene eats you from inside out or would you like some relief, perhaps to die at least in some dignity?"

Her smile made him uncomfortable, her description of his death far too accurate. The thought of it was unpleasant yet not unwanted. What did he have left to live for? It was a death either way, he thought morosely, but could not help but curl a lip at her blunt response. "You offer me dignity when I sense you could care less."

She sniffed, jerking her hand free of his grasp. "I care more than your kind does."

He closed his eyes, surrendering to her devices as she wielded her knife, cutting away most of the fabric covering his thigh. "I am sorry. You must leave me to my fate." His memory eluded him, left him floundering in despair. Who had he lost? What had he lost? He felt inconsolable at the lack of knowing.

She grunted and pressed her fingers painfully into his skin. "I am," she answered, her tone one of disgust. What had happened that she harbored such resentment against him? He clenched his teeth when her prodding touched on broken bone, all questions suddenly unimportant. He felt her withdraw, heard her footsteps cross the sand a few feet and then return. Then he stiffened as someone else approached, fingers itching to draw a weapon he no longer had.

"What have you found?"

"What does it look like?" The woman returned to his side, crouching beside him with her knee pressed against his thigh. He kept his eyes closed, fingers buried in the sand beneath him. He could do nothing but listen, aware of the faint sense of self-preservation that no longer allowed him thoughts of death. At least not then.

"He looks bad. You should leave him. You waste your strength on an elf."

She answered brusquely. "I can't and you know it."

Her companion sighed loudly. He knelt close by, his voice lowered as he offered reasons for the woman's anger. "They leave us by the boatfuls, while we are left with the dregs of Sauron's rule, to pain and death." The man was harsh, anger lacing his words as much as it had hers, coloring it to such a degree it made the man hoarse.

"They leave as they must," she chided, although she'd only recently said much the same. "There are few survivors of the shipwrecks. He is the first one I have found this week."

"All the more to leave him, Celyn. He will do us no good."

A resigned snort followed. A pair of hands gripped him again by the shoulders, their strength surprising. "I say you waste your time. The poison has set into his blood, I can see it clearly." Nevertheless, the hands lifted him, while another set caught hold of ankles to carry him up off the sand to some kind of vehicle. A blanket was pushed under his head, another covered him from chest to hip. Fingers gripped his thigh tightly sending pain rushing into his head.

He did not scream although he wanted to.

He had no idea what she did, aware only of the pain, the haze sending him into a desperate kind of reverie, aware vaguely of hands that held him down, of a sharp pinprick of agony in his thigh, then little more.

When he woke finally, lumbering from a darkness that threatened to consume him, the light was bright, forcing him to squint to see. He lay in a small room, the walls whitewashed, adorned with little more than the paint used to brighten the space. A rough wooden door led out, and the window letting in the light, sat open, the shutters pushed wide. A cool breeze wafted inside, filled with the smell of the sea, of fish and salt, of sunlight.

He turned his head slowly; lips dry to find a small cup sitting beside him. Water had beaded on the sides, the droplets reflecting the sunlight in a rainbow of color. He blinked, surprised that he could see it, his vision no longer hazy. He pushed himself up from the bed with arms that were far too shaky, struggling to sit up. Dizziness assailed him, but he refused to lie back. Forcing the nausea down, he noted his leg was stiff and unyielding, bound to a flat board from ankle to thigh, yet it did not pain him near as much as it had. He ran his hand along his thigh, found the neatly stitched seam that ran from his hip to his knee. He wiggled his toes to prove that he could and sighed in relief. Broken only then, it would heal in time.

It took a minute to realize he wore little beneath the thin coverlet covering him. The door opened a moment later and he lifted his gaze warily, vulnerable yet unwilling to show it.

Celyn stopped abruptly in the doorway. The tray trembled in her hands suddenly, the soup on it threatening to overflow at the sudden movement. She hadn't expected him to be awake, hadn't expected to find him sitting up with the light from the window haloing his hair, surrounding him with light. Or maybe perhaps it was his own aura, the elves she had heard had such an illumination sometimes, a magic humans like she did not possess.

The thought set her jaw, pushing her forward as he stared at her guardedly, hair falling over one eye, his hands hidden beneath the coverlet. He was still bruised, his fair skin mottled with purple and yellow, ribs heaving with the effort to breathe. Still in pain then, she decided, setting the tray beside the water cup. It was still full proving he had not taken any. Fool to resist healing. She took the cup, aware of the keen gaze that watched her intently and held it out to him.

"Drink, you've had little enough."

His eyes were striking, dark grey, surrounded by lashes that were startlingly dark in such a fair complexion. They shifted to the cup and then back to her. She shook the cup gently, sloshing the water over the side. "It is just water."

He took the cup gingerly, his fingers long and elegant. He sipped the water, trying unsuccessfully to control the tremor that made the cup tremble, the water to slide down his chin. Celyn grunted at the sight, leaning closer to wipe his chin even as he stared at her in surprise. He was not so different as she might have imagined, the tales of the elves blown far out of proportion in her mind. His ears were indeed pointed, peeking out from beneath his hair, yet he seemed normal enough, with a faint hint of male shadow at the jaw, lips clamped tight as any of her patients might have done. He handed her the water, without speaking, allowed her to adjust the pillow behind him to a better position and then push him backwards against it. He complied, shifting slightly with a grimace of pain.

"You aren't completely healed," Celyn explained, moving back to gain a breath, annoyed to find she had been holding it. "I did what I could. You did as much as I, sleeping like your kind does. You've healed the wound on your thigh faster than is right, but I won't ask how." Celyn sniffed irritably. She didn't need to know more about the elves, didn't need to find him so fascinating. She picked up the tray to set it on his lap, avoiding his gaze.

He seemed similarly inclined, his expression masking any emotion. They were cold, it was said, with little emotion. Was it true then? He seemed to be. He hadn't spoken yet, although she knew he could understand her and had spoken to her before. Did he even remember? She busied her fingers, keeping her gaze on the tray. She gasped when he caught her hand, fingers wrapped around her wrist.

"Why do you do this? It is clear you dislike me."

She felt the tremble in his hand, the weakness he strove to hide from her. Disturbed by his nearness, she looked up to find his gaze direct beneath the thick lashes.

"Not you, what you are. Elves. They leave us with nothing."

"We have done more than enough these long years, more than you care to remember." The words came from experience; she could sense it, even if he did not fully remember. He had not given them his name, the recollection of it taken from him by the wreck.

She felt his rebuke deeply and looked away.

"How many were lost on the ship?"

The question was sharp, unwanted, but filled with the need to know. She pulled her hand free of his grip, moving back a step from the bed. "I am not sure who all was on board, we do not yet know the ship or its origins."

"We came from Mithlond," he said, his gaze unfocused suddenly. "We were sailing west."

She had assumed the same; it was why most of the elves came to the Grey Havens. He blinked and his gaze settled on her again.

"Do you come from there?"

Celyn frowned at the question, did not like his sudden curiosity. "We go there only to watch the boats that leave, to beg them the stay."

"The war is over. Sauron has been defeated."

She turned away from the scolding gaze. He had at least remembered that. "Sauron, perhaps. But who will step in next?" She pushed away the haunting of friends lost, the family she no longer had.

"Are you afraid? Can you not support yourself-"

She turned abruptly to face him, chin high. "Is that not the point? Instead of banding as we must, together, your people leave this world to flee to happiness while we must continue to struggle."

She saw he could not argue the point, his jaw tight. He returned to safer waters and questions. "Who else was lost?"

Celyn frowned. There had been really only one ship departing from the Havens, but they had not found much to identity the wreck. Had he known his name they would have known for sure. As it was they had only him to question at this point. "One should ask who survived. You. None other."

Grief darkened his eyes. "None?"

She turned away, unable to bear his pain. Clearly he had remembered something. She busied her fingers, finding his grief unsettling. "None that we could find. Perhaps the Vala have taken some to heart, I know none have washed ashore."

The tray crashed to the floor, shocking her, tossed aside in anger and frustration. She turned around to find him sitting up, hands pressed against his eyes. Celyn covered her lips to hold back a cry of dismay. Cold and unemotional was not how he was now. She waited a moment, giving him time to gather his anger, glad that he had tossed the tray from him, had not noted the blade sitting on it, unsure if as an elf he would use it to follow his brethren to their deaths.

She knelt on the floor, picking up the scattered utensils, the empty bowl, cleaning up the mess he had made. She placed it all on the tray and then rose to face him again.

"When you are ready I will bring you more food." She gripped the tray tightly. Perhaps they were wrong in thinking the elves did not care. "I am sorry for your loss, there has been too many lost to us all." She turned away, hurrying from the sound of his weeping.

He heard the door open but remained standing as he was, in front of the window, wrapped in the coverlet from the bed. His head ached from the days of weariness and grief. He had had little recourse to vent his anger and used what little opportunity available. That it meant dealing with the woman eased his tension somewhat. Her footsteps paused and then continued, the clank of the tray being set on the table loud in the silence. Outside the window, the trees rustled in the wind, the sea a glint in the distance, the birds calling him back to the sea.

He listened, the dark melancholy of the sound settling heavily on his shoulders. He had followed the call to the sea, he thought morosely, had boarded a ship for the West only to be tossed aside and left for dead, all friends and family aboard lost to him and those kin who now resided in Aman. He had nothing left, no will to continue or return to a life he had thought to leave. Anger filled his soul, despair ate at his heart.

"You cannot continue to starve yourself," she declared from behind him. "I can see your ribs even now."

He did not understand her. Did not see why she continued to try to bring him back, to force him alive again. They had played this game before, his stance at the window, hers with her tray. It had ended badly most times. It would again.

"I have news."

He refused to take her bait, refused to turn away from the sight that still sank daggers into his heart.

"We have word from the Havens," she continued brightly, clanking dishes loudly, settling a tray that needed no settling. At his lack of response, she stopped and was silent behind him.

The moment lengthened in an uncomfortable tension. He gripped the window's frame tightly.

When she finally spoke, her voice had dropped to nearly a whisper. "They believe there to be more survivors."

He shuddered, unable to control the reaction, his heart squeezed unmercifully by the thought.

"The storm carried you far; the ship broke up, much of it with you, but much of it caught by the shoals on which you foundered."

Shoals that should not have been there, the ship's captain had been unaware of having gone off course in the storm as far as he had. Her news should have been welcome, but it only brought back the memory of that night, the storm as it tossed them into the rocks. He was no seaman, not akin to those who lived in the rolling embrace of Manwe's arms. There should not have been that which had taken lives. He turned his head slightly. "How do you know this?"

She held out a cup, an offering and a bribe. "Eat and I will tell you."

He wanted to roll his eyes at the trap.

Her frown told him she was nearly desperate, her face as pale as his. "What is your name?"

She had asked the question before, one he at first could not answer and then later, did not want to. What good would it do to know his name, to place him, to know where it was he had come from? To alert those who thought him in Aman that he was not, to burden them with despair.

She moved a few steps to look at him, her head tilted to the side, watching him closely. Determination shadowed her eyes. "There is one called…" She hesitated, noting his stiffness perhaps, the grip that he had on the window. Did she see his terror, to hear the names he knew too well, to be told that yes they were dead… or not.

"Actually, I think I will not say, you do not seem interested." She turned away, surprising him, choosing a new tactic in their battle.

He could not breathe for a moment, overwhelmed by the fear. The need to know overcame the fear and he let go of the window. "Tell me now," he demanded, his voice hoarse with emotions he could not now suppress.

"Not until you eat something," she replied stubbornly.

His strength nearly at an end, he forced himself to turn, to stalk toward her. Her eyes widened in alarm and she stepped back once then found her courage to hold her position, chin rising until he stood in front of her. "You will tell me now," he repeated only to find a question his answer.

"How many were on board?"

He gritted his teeth in frustration. Memory haunted him, dragged at his soul. "Five, there were five on board."

"Including the crew?" She waved a hand toward the tray, a silent expectation.

He caught her by the arms and shook her roughly, angered by the delay. "By all that is vile in this world, you will not hold this from me for favors."

She held his gaze, the brown of her eyes glinting with satisfaction. "You can barely stand now. How will you travel to see your brothers if you fall so ill as to die tomorrow?"

He retreated a step, felt the shock wash over him, taking with it any blood he might have had in his head. Any strength that had remained faded, dropping him to his knees. Her hands gripped his shoulders and he settled on the floor, her fingers moving to cup the back of his neck as he shuddered, too grief-stricken to do more than sit there. She waited silently, her patience far greater than his own.

After a moment she spoke. "They say there are few as loyal and determined as the March Warden of Lothlórien. The loss of such an elf has reverberated over the land since the ship was found, the devastation you so adamantly tried to avoid has already been told, falsely, since none of us could refute the rumor that spread so quickly." She rose to her feet, leaving him alone on the floor. "Now eat, Haldir of Lorién. You have family that seeks you out but they cannot travel, for their injuries were more dire, if their memories intact."

He looked up at her, could do nothing more her words settled finally in his mind. She shivered and folded her arms stubbornly over her chest, perhaps expecting him to refuse to believe it. But he knew, even as she spoke, that they were alive. As if a window on his soul had been closed, it now opened to allow his heart and thoughts free.

"How do I know you do not lie, your words false?" Haldir asked, if only to tease when she would not know it for that.

She snorted and sent him a peevish look. It reminded him of his younger brother. "Would you think I'd be that cruel? Your brothers call you Haldir, to you they are Roomile and," she struggled with the longer elvish, clearly trying to remember. "Oro..Oro.."

"Orophin," he said.

"Orophin," she agreed. She pointed at the tray. "Now eat. We have far to travel, March Warden."

He could not help but smile, allowing a faint curve to his lip. She pressed a hand against her chest and then turned away, hurrying out the door, calling to her brothers. Brothers such as he had, still. Joy surged though his soul.

It took him longer than he liked to recover enough to travel. His leg still bothered him, the splint gone for some time even before he had learned his brothers still lived. It was more the weakness in his blood, the weariness he could not push aside. Perhaps the toll of his emotions had taken some of his ability to recover as he once had.

The day finally arrived, however, when Celyn declared him fit to leave her small cottage.

He stood outside, in the shadow of the wall waiting as they brought things round. The woman had insisted he ride, a wagon bound for the havens required a driver and with his ill health, meant he would be chosen for the task. He did not argue, his impatience to see his brothers sharp on his tongue.

But he was not in charge here. Celyn was and she was a firm taskmaster.

She took no arguments from any of her men, two brothers who had survived the troubles with Sauron.

They packed the wagon with a few supplies, blankets, a tent for rain, things he felt uneccesary, where as she did not. A pointed look at him sitting with some weariness had him surrendering their argument. He smiled at the thought and focused on the woman as she carried yet another parcel to the wagon. He rose and took it from her, refusing to simply sit and watch. "You will be returning," he reminded her, settling the package under the seat.

She paused to look at him, her hands on her hips. The scar on her cheek drew his gaze.

"How did you gain this injury?" He reached out but she moved her head before his fingers could touch her.

"Avoiding a man intent on making me his next concubine." She began to move past him but Haldir stopped her with a hand on her arm.

The thought of anyone attempting to harm her made him angry. He relaxed his fingers, surprised to find the anger there in his grip. "I am sorry," he said, both for the pain of her wound and his reaction.

She looked away, her fingers brushing the scar unconsciously. "I try to forget," she said.

He could do one thing perhaps, in return for her kindness. He drew her closer, smiled at the startled expression in her gaze when he laid a hand over the scar. "I can do some things," he admitted. The energy he called upon took a moment to fill him, the warmth coming from deep inside. He could not heal everything, had struggled to heal himself under the strain of despair. But the lightness was there, enough to spread into his fingers, enough to soften the skin beneath into smoothness.

It would not fade completely. He could not do that, but he could make it less. Removing his hand he nodded as she stared at him in shock. "It is the least I can do."

He did not expect her anger. "Perhaps I do not want it gone?"

Haldir tilted his head in confusion. "Explain?"

She stepped back away from him, her hand covering the remains of the scar. "Does one always have to be pretty to you?"

She wasn't beautiful in the sense he was accustomed to, rather bland with her simple hair and ways. Her eyes were stunning however, a window to a soul full of contradictions, even now as she stood facing him, her breath shallow in anger.

"You are not so pretty," Haldir remarked lazily, settling against the wagon to watch her reaction.

Celyn opened her mouth to retort and then closed it with a snap. She glared at him, a withering look that should have burned him to cinders. "Clearly I am beneath you," she declared and turned away, but Haldir's speed was returning and he was able to move faster, stepping in front of her to block her retreat.

"I never said you were beneath me, Celyn." He decided then that he'd like her beneath him, if only briefly as she would undoubtedly refuse more. Any kind of relationship would be difficult between them, but the desire was there, it warmed his blood as he gazed down at her.

Her brothers stood watching, distant reminders they were not alone.

She stared at his chest, unmoving. Haldir glanced at the men and then leaned down to kiss her cheek, just above the line of her scar. "I could imagine other possibilities, yet would not want to be included with the one who hurt you so. I wished only to repair such a reminder for you. It was not for my benefit."

She blinked and then let out a breath when he moved back. She swept past him without looking up. "Your place is in the wagon. We are leaving now."

Celyn strode down the path that ran along the shore, her mind fumbling through such an array of thoughts she tripped twice. Walter, her brother, had caught her arm without any comment but a smile. The expression made her angry, then mortified her confusion was so apparent.

She had harbored resentment toward the elves for years. It had been a way to ease the burden of despair, to find blame for the hardness of her life. There were few left after the battles. Families up and down the coast bore little resemblance to those before the war, some altogether destroyed with none left to carry on the line.

She had been fortunate to still have two out of five brothers. She had been born between them. It made her sturdy, taught her to survive a household of men with few comforts. Mother had passed after the last boy had been born, taken by a weariness her father could not fight. It was said the elves bore such despair if left too long in this land.

She didn't want to think of the elves as needful beings. Hadn't wanted to admit they had feelings, but caring for Haldir had proven otherwise. Even if he chose to hide them from most everyone but her. Having him touch her, and heal her scar had set her off kilter, leaving her floundering on what to do.

She decided it was easier to consider him nothing more than one of her brothers.

She left him standing beside the wagon.

Looking back a few moments later he was still there, arms folded on the edge of the seat. Walter appeared beside her with a grin. "So they do have magic," he said, peering at her closely.

Celyn shoved him back. "Go away. It is time to get moving."

"They're not so bad it seems," Walter decided belatedly, his earlier dismissal when they'd found Haldir forgotten. He retreated at her glare and joined Haldir on the wagon. Snapping the reins, the elf nodded at Celyn as he passed, with a faint twinkle in his eye she did not miss.

They reached the Havens two weeks after leaving her cottage, two long weeks spent with an elf suddenly changing from the grim melancholy creature he'd been to one clearly tied to the earth. He knew when it would rain and found them cover. He disappeared at times so long that Celyn would begin to worry only to find him returning with leaves filled with berries and nuts, and once even a rabbit even though he had no weapons.

Walter found Haldir amusing and spent many nights at the fire regaling tales of his bravado during the war, while the elf remained stoically silent. His amusement was evident only to Celyn when their eyes met, the grey gaze suddenly warm when it touched on hers.

She fought to remain indifferent, to renew the anger and distrust. He spoke few words but Celyn felt he saw everything. It was disconcerting, reminding her time and again of just _who _ he was. March Warden of Lorien, a position of strength, honor, respect that was noted as soon as anyone mentioned him.

Arriving at the Havens set her back a step, brought up as always by the beauty of the bay, the graceful curve of buildings that seemed as much as part of the sea as land. Boats lay bobbing gently on a still surface, the wind little more than a breath across her cheek.

Haldir climbed off the wagon to stand beside her.

"Is there a problem?" She wondered if there was a tinge of impatience in his voice.

Celyn shook her head. "No, I just like to stop here for a moment." She would think of Haldir now when she saw the city, remember the elf silhouetted against the sky. His fingers on her skin brought her out of her thoughts.

"We must continue,' he urged softly.

She knew then of his impatience, surprised he would wait for her. "Of course. I was told they stay near the docks."

Haldir nodded and waved her forward, choosing to walk beside her. Walter followed with the wagon, while Frederick walked behind. The remaining two men left to gather provisions for the return trip. They walked silently for some time, the elf adjusting his pace to hers. She was fully aware of him beside her, aware of the glances that shifted to watch them pass by.

He said nothing, but walked with a grace she found rewarding, knowing she had something to do with his return to health. Even his weariness seemed to fade as they drew closer, his fingers suddenly gripping her arm to draw her forward when several elves appeared ahead of them.

They were all tall, sleek limbed creatures dressed in tones of grey and green. They stood waiting, four of them blocking the road. Celyn felt daunted by the elves. They had always been distant, on the boats, never so close as to touch. Now she was pulled forward without delay, the fingers on her arm insistent and demanding.

Haldir changed once again to something that made her breathless, all in the space of a moment.

He became the March Warden.

The four elves were not smiling.

Haldir stopped a pace from them, Celyn's arm still within his grasp. "We mean to pass," he said.

Celyn glanced up at him, surprised by the quiet tone of his voice. Softly spoken, the words still held the air of command and the expectancy to be obeyed.

One of the elves stepped forward. He stood nearly as tall as Haldir, but was slimmer, his eyes blue as the sea in sunlight. He stared at Haldir intently, his expression masked of all emotion, one hand gripping the strap of his quiver across his chest.

"We are told the men with you are not welcome here," the elf declared softly.

Haldir glanced at her for a moment. "And why is that?"

The elf looked to his companions and then shrugged. "It is to the elves of Mithlond that you should ask that."

Celyn looked at the elf in surprise and then blinked. They were not dressed as many of the elves of the city were dressed, in the flowing robes and tunics of office. They wore simpler garb, in colors of the forest, the greys and browns of trees and growing things. The elf facing them carried himself well, at ease in the face of an elf of greater stature, seemingly uncaring that he blocked their way.

Haldir released her and stepped forward. "Do you consider this dislike well earned?"

The elf shrugged and offered a faint smile, one that Celyn found oddly familiar. "Tis often a case of simply not wanting to understand the other. We have many enemies."

The elf glanced at Celyn. Behind him the other three elves had retrieved bows and had arrows readied, if pointed at the ground. They waited silent and deadly, a sudden wall of serious intent that made Celyn feel faint. These creatures had fought Sauron, had fought for the very existence of Middle Earth. She shook her head, reminded forcefully that some of the elves were not just elves, but warriors, fighters to the death against a sometimes-greater foe.

The elf's gaze slid over her, an intimate appraisal that made Haldir take her arm again. Celyn had never wanted another's ptotection more than she did at that moment.

"Desist, brother, she is not for you."

Haldir's words slammed home just why the elf seemed familiar, why he was so relaxed facing a elf clearly his superior.

"Is she then, for you, Haldir?" The elf spoke lazily yet his posture remained that of a panther, poised to react to whatever confronted him.

"She has only saved my life, Orophin. You should be thankful I am as I am, for it is only because of them that I am here." Haldir's words made her brother's smile, Walter brushed a hand over his brow.

Orophin. This was his brother then. She met the blue gaze curiously. Was this how Haldir was normally? Without expression, reserved in the face of a brother thought dead?

But as Haldir had changed in a moment to something else, so did this elf. All sense of rigidity flowed from him as he relazed, color came into face as he let go of the strap across his chest and held out a hand.

"Glad I am to see you alive, Haldir." The words were whispered, the pain and grief underlying the joy they expressed.

Haldir reached out and jerked the elf toward him, enclosing his arms around Orophin in a hug only brothers can share. Orophin stood with his eyes closed and then sighed and stepped back. A wave brought a wave of faint smiles from the other three and then they relaxed to surround Haldir with questions. Orophin stepped away and then turned to her. He smiled and then without warning, caught her into his arms to kiss her soundly.

Haldir leaned against the stone rail, arms folded over his chest as Orophin settled beside him. Rumil was inside, beyond the closed door.

"He is well?"

"Gaining," Orophin said. "His despair that you were lost nearly took him from us. He felt it his fault you went overboard as you did. He thinks he could have stopped you."

Haldir shook his head knowing it had all happened too fast. "His leg?"

"Healed yet he remains in bed, pretending to be ill to bring the women about."

Haldir smiled in amusement. "Never changes, does he."

"Nor do you," Orophin replied. He rubbed his chin, bruised after Haldir had tossed him aside after kissing the girl. She was not amused by either of them. Haldir had only watched her stomp away with a sigh.

"Prickly, that one," Orophin noted, clearly following Haldir's thoughts. "The elves here do not trust them, they have stirred up much trouble among the men."

"They have felt forgotten," Haldir explained. He pushed to his feet to stare at the door. "I thought it all lost, Orophin. My grief was such that I wanted only to die. She did not allow me that option."

Orophin pressed a hand to Haldir's shoulder. "She is a treasure."

"Indeed, one I intend to keep hidden from Rumil. HE will not be kissing her either."

Orophin only smiled. Rumil would do what he would do. Once beyond the confines of illness and lust, he would focus again on Haldir, and knowing his brother, Orophin knew Rumil's curiousity would be hard pressed to see the woman who had kept Haldir alive. Not an easy task once the elf's mind had settled on it.

Haldir opened the door quietly, stepping past the portal with a stealth born of long habit. Rumil was distracted only for a moment by the woman leaning over him, his gaze passing over Haldir and then back with eyes that grew wide.

"For the love of the Valar, Haldir!"

They confined the elf to his bed just before Rumil lost his strength, collapsing against Haldir with a cry of relief. It was a long moment before any of them spoke, the woman leaving them with a watery smile.

"I could not go on," Rumil whispered.

"Nor I," Haldir admitted quietly.

Orophin nodded his agreement. "We cannot be parted. I have told you this, Haldir. If one stays then we all stay."

"But we were all leaving," Rumil said, looking from one to the other.

"_Were _ being the sticking point," Orophin explained. He looked at Haldir intently. "The forest fades even now."

"Our magic fades," Haldir agreed. He looked out the window for a moment. He turned to Rumil and smiled. "A long journey perhaps."

"And no women," Orophin declared with a stern face.

Rumil looked crestfallen. "Not even one?"

"We have no wardens to return to," Haldir reminded them.

"Not true," Orophin said. He rose to his feet to move to the window. He opened the shutters wide. "We seem to have a growing menagerie outside."

Rumil frowned, shifting to a more comfortable position. "I am healed enough to travel."

"Are not," Orophin complained.

"Not yet," Haldir agreed. "The menagerie?" He looked at Orophin.

"I count elves, several Lorien, one I swear looks like Thranduil, a few Imladris elves." Orophin smiled in amusement as Haldir lifted a brow. "And a few human men among them, as well as a couple of dwarves,"

The three elves wrinkled their noses for a moment.

"A menagerie waiting on orders from the March Warden of Lothlorien," Orophin declared firmly.

"But no women, elf or otherwise?" Rumil sighed.

"One of those dwarves could be a woman," Orophin replied, peering out the window. "I can never tell."

Haldir shook his head in amusement.

"Oh, wait…" Orophn held up his hand and then glanced over his shoulder.

Rumil perked up with a smile.

"But she's off limits," Orophin continued. "She's for Haldir."

Rumil glanced at his brother, while Haldir sat back, failing at control the pleasure in his expression. "Haldir, you've been plundering?"

A hand on Rumil's neck brought him face to face with the March Warden. "She has not nor will be plundered, in any way, thought or form."

Rumil only grinned. "Not by me at least."

Orophin chuckled and closed the window. "Nor by me. Haldir will find his challenge met with strong reservations. Just the thing to motivate us all back to Lorien."

"Where there are still orcs to be had," Rumil added.

"Where the forest still calls us home," Haldir agreed with a smile.


End file.
